


A Better Man

by zelda_zee



Category: Robin Hood (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-28
Updated: 2007-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee





	A Better Man

Allan turns around from his place up front with Guy’s retinue to survey the crowd and catches sight of his dark head, the too-long hair falling into his eyes and shading his face. Allan swallows hard, remembering the feel of it gliding silkily through his fingers.

The three of them are all looking down, ostensibly praying – and perhaps they really are, but Allan thinks it more likely they’re keeping their heads low in an attempt to pass unnoticed. He turns back to the front. Their anonymity is safe with him. As far as he’s concerned they’re just three more grubby, penniless peasants – which, he acknowledges, is what he himself was up to a few months ago.

Now though, he has a position and he has money and he has a sort of power, albeit only at Guy’s pleasure – which he makes it his duty to ensure the continuance of. He knows for a fact Guy has no cause for complaint. A lifetime of living by his wits has made Allan A Dale canny and clever and quick, and it’s also made him damnably good with his hands and his mouth and his arse. He’s putting all his skills and talents to use these days, and reaping the rewards in coin of the realm, which he’s squirreling away safe and sound for that rainy day he was always warning Will about.

And what does Will have? Still, nothing, not a penny to his name. He’s wearing the same ratty cloak, worn too thin to ward off the chill of a cold winter night, the same faded, frayed and doubtless smelly clothes that he had when Allan was in the gang, while Allan is arrayed more splendidly than ever before, decked out in fine woolens and shiny new leather.

If the King returned tomorrow, Allan could take his savings and move to a new town to begin again. Will would be stuck here in Nottingham, dependent on Robin’s willingness to acknowledge his outlaw status and reward those who had shared it with him. Allan’s always felt safer with a bird in the hand. Putting one’s faith in the uncertain largess of the nobility is never a good idea.

Will is always going to remain a peasant, Allan thinks scornfully. He has no ambition to be more. Allan plans to make a name for himself someday, once he’s able to get out from under Guy’s shadow. He’ll have money and property and a wife and heirs and he’ll live a fine, fine life of ease and comfort, no more pinching purses and conning and thieving and whoring.

The service begins and he gives it his attention, trying to banish sinful thoughts for the duration of the Mass. He’s a sinner and a hypocrite, but at least he tries not to be while he’s in the house of God.

After the service Guy and his men retire to the great hall to drink themselves into a stupor. Tomorrow they’ll be right back here for Christmas Mass, ashen-faced and shivering with the aftereffects of too much mead.

Allan peels away unnoticed and secrets himself behind a stone column near the gate, part of the fortifications and holding a shadowed hiding place the gang has made use of many times in their stealthy comings and goings through the town.

It’s easy to spot Will beneath the light of the full moon as he makes his way across the square. He’s tall and straight-backed and has that distinctive loping gait, identifying him as a man who walks his way through the world rather than riding, as Allan does now. Allan’s relieved to see that he’s alone and he wonders if Will let Little John and Much go on ahead in hopes of running into him, before dismissing that as wishful thinking.

It’s surprisingly easy to slip up behind Will unnoticed, and cover his mouth and wrestle him back into the hidden alcove, shoving him into the stone wall perhaps a little more roughly than strictly necessary, but Will’s a strong lad and it wouldn’t do to let him get the upper hand.

“Quiet,” he whispers, his mouth at the back of Will’s neck. He feels Will freeze at the recognition of his voice, though he’s still tensed in every muscle. “I just want to talk.” But he can’t help pressing against Will, because God help him he misses feeling that long, lithe body against his, the coiled strength and wiry grace of it. His cock jumps and he closes his eyes, inhaling and yes, Will’s clothes are rank but they’re rank with the smell of Will and Allan doesn’t think that’s a scent his nose will ever be capable of finding offensive.

“And what could you have to say to me, Allan A Dale,” asks Will, but he keeps his voice low, “with your breath gone short and your cock poking at my arse?” Will sighs, sounding put upon and a little amused. “And right after Mass on Christmas Eve too. Surely that’s a terrible sin.”

Allan chuckles, because that’s his Will, always ready to give as good as he gets. “It must be.” Allan grinds his hips against Will’s arse, feeling hard muscles flex beneath his hardening cock. “A terrible, terrible sin.” He drops his forehead to Will’s shoulder as it comes rushing back – the desire, but more than that – the longing for something beyond a quick fuck that he’d never in his life felt until he met Will.

He steps away, drawing a shaky breath and lets Will turn to face him. Will leans back upon the wall and at that moment Allan could almost believe in the legends he’s heard about elfish folk who live in the depths of Sherwood, for here before him is a creature made of silver and shadow, with creamy pale skin and pitch black hair and the argentine light of the moon glowing in his eyes, unearthly and strangely beautiful.

For a while they just gaze at each other, their breath puffing in little steamy clouds between them. This is the first time they’ve been so close in months other than the time Will was taken prisoner and during the preparations for the battle that never came to pass, both encounters so rushed, so brief. Allan finds simply looking at Will to be a luxury beyond any he’s experienced during his time in Guy’s service and he longs with sudden fierceness for the days when being able to gaze upon Will’s face was not a luxury but a simple fact of everyday life.

“I’ve missed you, Will Scarlett,” says Allan.

“And I you, Allan A Dale,” replies Will. “But that changes nothing.”

“Nothing?” Allan moves closer and puts a hand to the cold stone beside Will’s head. “Missing me's not nothing, Will. It’s something and it means something to me.”

Will tilts his head and it draws his long neck into an arc that Allan can’t help but want to put his lips to. “I’m surprised that what I think matters to you, Allan,” he murmurs. "With you such a fine _gentleman_ and all, now."

“You couldn’t doubt it. Not after – not after what we were to each other.” Allan reaches out to stroke Will’s face, but he turns his head away and Allan’s hand falls to his side.

“Didn’t stop you from leaving, did it?”

“Will…” Allan reaches toward him but doesn’t touch him, held back by Will’s resentful scowl. “I explained all that and I begged you to come with me. I can’t live on the hope that Robin’ll remember us when he gets his lands back. I can’t gamble my future away like that. Maybe I want to be that kind of man, but I’m _not_.”

“What kind of man are you then, Allan? Tell me that.” Will’s eyes flash with anger though he’s still leaning casually against the wall. Allan just stares at him for a moment as the silence lengthens. “Or _I’ll_ tell _you_. You’re _Guy’s_ man now, aren’t you? What that means, I don’t know but I can hazard a fairly safe guess.” Will’s lip twists with scorn. “I’m sure you’re very well-compensated. Guy must appreciate your particular type of _skill_.”

Allan’s eyes narrow and he feels his face heat. He’s not a hothead like Will, but he won’t stand here and be insulted either.

“Watch what you say, Will,” he says quietly, “I’ll only allow so much, even from you.”

“In the end I meant less to you than a pocketful of coins,” Will spits. “You leave us - you leave _me_ \- to run to Gisborne so you can _whore_ yourself out –”

He doesn’t finish because Allan’s got him back against the wall again, his forearm against Will’s windpipe. He bucks and struggles but Allan’s got the advantage now and he doesn’t let up until Will hits him hard in the temple and he blinks and remembers that this is _Will_ and that no matter what he says or does Allan doesn’t ever want to hurt him.

He steps back and Will gasps for air, his hand holding his throat, glaring.

"You know _nothing_ of what I am, what I do," Allan says. "I have rank, and security and you're an outlaw. You're nothing - less than nothing! Your life is forfeit a hundred times over and when they hang you I'll be standing there watching it at Gisborne's side."

And that's what he dreads most, that day. He feels the weight of the future pressing down upon him, because at some point it will all come to a head and Robin and his gang and the peasants who aid them cannot win. Wealth and power will triumph as they always do and those who try to defy them will be crushed. Allan doesn't know how he'll bear it, watching them die. Watching Will....

He can’t help reaching out in apology, but Will knocks his hand away, giving him a look that feels like it pierces Allan to the core. “You wouldn't let it happen. I know you, and you’re a better man than that, Allan.”

Allan winces at his words, cringing inwardly. He wonders why it should hurt so much to know that Will still has that much faith in him.

“No, mate,” Allan says, feeling an unaccustomed twinge of guilt. “I’m really not.”

He’s not prepared for it when Will grabs him by the collar of his cloak and spins them, banging him back against the wall. He exhales with an _oof_ and just has time to grasp Will’s arms and register the fire in his eyes and his voice, a low, hard growl, “And _I_ say you _are_ ,” before Will’s mouth crushes his in a brutal, demanding kiss. Allan’s world tilts on its axis and he clings to Will for dear life and just opens to him, since there’s no resistance possible in the face of such overwhelming determination. He melts against the wall and lets Will hold him up and take whatever he wants, for he’s never been able to deny Will nor has he ever had any desire to. It’s never been like this though, with Will so angry and needy and very nearly violent and it makes lust surge through him and his cock stiffen so fast that a wave of dizziness washes over him, makes him feel intoxicated, as if he’s been drinking strong mead all night and not sitting in church trying to forget about his sinful ways.

He moans as Will’s tongue pushes into his mouth and the sound surprises him. They’ve always been so careful to avoid being overheard that silence is almost second nature to him. Will seems to like it though, because he presses their bodies more tightly together, rocking his hips and Allan can feel the hardness of Will’s cock grinding against his through layers of thick wool and it makes him moan again, the noise muffled by their kiss. Will’s tongue is fucking into his mouth and it’s making Allan’s body fill with shivery delight. He feels like any second he’s about to lose control and rub himself frantically against Will to gain release and that’s not what he’d choose if he could rein himself in, no, he’d choose to be deep inside his sweet Will, hearing the way his breathing turns to soft sobs and feeling how his whole body shakes helplessly just before he spends.

His hands roam Will’s body beneath the cloak, grabbing and clutching and kneading, before they settle on Will’s arse, pulling him in tight and thrusting hard and fast and _ohhh_ pleasure shoots and sparks up his backbone and it’s too good, it’s happening too fast, and he hates it that it’s never like this with Guy or with the whores he buys when he feels the need to fuck for a change – that it’s only ever been this good with Will. He can feel tension coiling hotly around the root of his cock, pulling taut, pulsing in his balls. He pulls back, gasping, and Will’s mouth is on his neck, biting and sucking, and damn him but he’s leaving a mark and there’ll be hell to pay for that, but Allan doesn’t care. He wants it, wants an outward sign of the truth that lives somewhere deep down in his black-hearted soul – he belongs to Will and no matter how their fortunes diverge, no matter how many times Guy or anyone else fucks him, nothing can change that.

He’s shivering pathetically and his stifled moans are escaping in desperate whimpers and breathy grunts when Will whispers in his ear, “I want it, what you give to Gisborne. I want you to give it to me, Allan, because you know it’s mine and no one else’s."

Allan squeezes his eyes shut. “Wait, Will,” he says breathlessly, trying to get his mind to focus because this is not a good idea, not at all. “I don’t think we should –”

“It’s _true_ , Allan, you know it is. Don’t fight me on this.” Will’s hand cups his cock, giving it a squeeze. “Or do I need to pay for it now, like Gisborne does?”

Allan shudders at that and he's filled with dread because he knows what Will is going to discover, but he can't deny Will this, not when Gisborne takes it whenever he pleases. It’s true that it’s always been the other way ‘round with Will and him, but he understands why Will wants it now. And it's fitting, thinks Allan, as he turns on unsteady feet to face the wall and reaches with shaking hands to unlace his breeches, because he’s not a ‘better man’ as Will had claimed, and it’s just as well that Will realize that in a way he can’t disregard.

It makes Allan’s stomach twist though and the shame burn hot through every inch of his body, because he can’t help wanting Will and he can’t help wanting Will to think well of him, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He bites his lip and doesn’t say a word, just pushes his breeches down over his hips and braces himself against the wall and tries to make himself stop trembling and stop wanting this so much even though he’s expecting that in just a moment Will is going to turn away from him in disgust.

The cold night air whispers over his bare skin as Will pushes his cloak aside. It’s freezing, but it doesn’t diminish his ardor in the least, his nerves and his fears clearly playing second fiddle to his lust. But it was ever thus with Will and him – whatever else was occurring around them, it never could trump their need for each other and Allan suddenly wonders how he could have done it, how he could have left Will – for if he’s honest he really doesn’t care a jot for the rest of them, it was always and only Will who kept him to the straight and narrow.

Will’s hand lands on his hip, cold fingers burning into his skin, his prick hot as a brand against Allan’s buttock. Will must have opened his breeches because it’s bare skin he feels and Allan wishes it wasn’t so cold and that they weren’t standing here in the middle of Nottingham Town because he wants to feel skin everywhere. It’s something he and Will had only once or twice – time and privacy enough to indulge themselves like that.

Will smoothes his palm over the curve of Allan’s arse, murmuring something so quietly that Allan can’t hear him.

“Will –” he says, suddenly overwhelmed with trepidation.

“Shhh,’ soothes Will. “I shan’t hurt you, Allan.” He pulls Allan’s hips back farther and nudges his legs out wider. Allan just lets it happen, despite how his stomach’s tied up in knots.

Will’s hand circles around him and he gasps raggedly as it wraps around his cock, sliding slowly up and back, thumb passing wetly over the head.

“ _Christ_. You’re so hard.” Will’s voice is roughened by desire and the sound of it sends a hot spike of arousal through Allan. They’ve always been able to make blasphemers of each other – but then that’s the least of their sins.

Will releases him and he hears him spit into his hand and his fingers are there, searching and then pushing inward. Allan draws in a breath as the need for it slams into him and at the same moment he feels Will stop, going absolutely still. Allan doesn’t move other than his hands, braced against the wall, curling into fists. He tries to remember to keep breathing as his heart pounds so hard that he fears it will break right out of his chest.

“You’re – you’re –” Will’s voice is shaking, but Allan’s not sure with what emotion. “You’ve got his _seed_ in you.” Will’s fingers twist roughly and Allan clenches around them. When he speaks again, Will’s mouth is right at Allan’s ear and there’s no mistaking the venom in it. “You went to Mass _fucked open_ , with his seed in you?!”

“Will, I –”

“ _Jesus_. And then you _accost_ me in the middle of the fucking town, like some fucking – god _dammit_ , Allan.”

“Let me explain,” Allan begins, realizing too late that there’s no possible explanation, that for once he doesn’t have enough skill to talk his way out of trouble.

“Shut up,” Will says coldly. “What could you _possibly_ have to say to me?” He shoves what feels like three fingers into Allan and Allan grunts in pain, because although it’s true Guy fucked him right before Mass, that was a couple of hours ago now. “Just shut up and take it like the – like the –”

 _Whore that you are_ , thinks Allan, but Will doesn’t finish and Allan doesn’t know if it’s that he can’t or that he won’t, but either way he’s grateful, because with the mixture of need and shame twisting and twining through him, he doesn’t know if he could bear hearing Will call him a whore while he’s bent over and shivering with need for his cock.

So he doesn’t say anything because what could he say, what is there left to say between them? It’s all boiled down to this, an angry, furtive fuck in the dark. The night air’s so damned cold it’s making his eyes water and the chill seems to have gotten caught in his throat as well but everything’s forgotten when Will enters him with one harsh, punishing thrust that buries him fully. Allan cries out, but Will slaps his hand across his mouth just in time to muffle it. The pain eases quickly enough and Allan knows it’s because he’s still stretched and slick from earlier, and dear God if he’s ever felt more completely a whore he doesn’t know when it might have been.

Will’s slamming into him, rocking his body forward with enough force to almost make Allan lose his footing. Allan’s hands slip on the wall and he repositions them, clutching at the rough stone. His arms are shaking and he’s pouring sweat despite the chill air and Will’s fucking him like a man possessed and even though Allan’s craving something a little softer and slower he can’t blame Will. He knows Will’s intent on making him _feel_ it, and feel it he does, all the way down to the soles of his feet. He’ll be feeling it tomorrow as well and possibly all the way into next week if Will doesn’t let up, but _Christ_ , he doesn’t want him to let up, doesn’t want him to stop, not yet, not ever.

He desperately needs to reach down and jerk himself, but if he takes a hand away he’ll end up with his face planted into the wall. He’s so hard though, his balls are drawn up tight against his body and Will’s found the perfect angle so that every time he thrusts pleasure skitters over Allan’s skin and light dances on the back of his eyelids and his cock leaps as if it’s about to spill all on its own, without a single touch. Allan tries to keep his breath steady, keep himself quiet, but he’s gasping and whimpering and when Will leans forward, pressing his chest to Allan’s back and licks and sucks at his neck, the sound that rises from the back of his throat is broken and aching and lost-sounding and yet somehow still demanding.

“Like that?” Will grits out. “Need that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” pants Allan. “God – _yes_ – please, Will, please –”

“Please what? Please _what_ , Allan?” Will’s slowed a bit and now he’s just grinding deep and hard into that place inside Allan that’s making his knees weaken and his fingers go numb, making him sob and gasp and arch against Will's hips. His prick feels so heavy, so full and he can’t think of anything beyond his need for Will’s hand, his need to spend.

“M-more, _ohGod_ , more, Will, please,” he groans, the words coming out thickened and slurred.

Will moans, burying his face in Allan’s shoulder, pushing even deeper and Allan pushes back wanting it all, wanting Will so far up inside him, farther than anyone's ever been. Will’s breath is hot and damp on his neck and his voice is shredded but it’s his words that make Allan shudder. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“ _Ahh, God_.” Allan tries to make his mouth work, suddenly desperate to get the words out, words that he’d never say if he wasn’t so far gone. “I’m yours, Will. I’m yours, you know it, that’s never changed.”

Will grabs his jaw, forcing his head around and his mouth is hot and open on Allan’s and his other hand takes Allan’s cock in a firm grasp and strokes once and Allan’s making a raw, primal sound around Will’s tongue, vision blackening, everything swirling, pulses of aching pleasure starting deep in his hips, spreading outward, filling him up all the way to the tips of his fingers, the roots of his hair. He’s spurting over Will’s hand and spasming around Will’s cock and it’s so good that he can’t _breathespeakthink_ , on and on and on, until he’s weak and shuddering, groaning incoherently. Will’s pushing him against the wall, holding him up as he plunges into him fast and hard, and Allan’s eyes roll back in his head, ecstasy washing through him anew as Will clutches at him and sinks his teeth into his shoulder, a high, half-swallowed moan escaping as his hips stutter. Allan clenches tight around him, feeling the hot throb deep within, his breath hitching into a sigh before he presses his lips tightly together, trapping the words that struggle to be released, for there's no denying that he's already said far too much.

Then Will’s gasping into his neck and trembling and his arms have somehow become wrapped tight around Allan's middle. Allan puts his hands over them and they just stand there for the longest time, leaning into the cold wall and swaying on their feet. It feels safe and warm to be surrounded by Will, and just for a moment Allan lets his guard down and allows himself to really feel it.

Will draws a deep breath and then Allan can feel his lips move against the nape of his neck, his kisses as soft and gentle as his fucking was harsh and unforgiving. “You’re mine, Allan,” he whispers between kisses, and it makes Allan’s skin break out in goose bumps. “He can use you however you let him, but you know and I know that you belong to me.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Allan whispers back.

“No,” Will replies. “But you know it now and that’s what matters.”

Allan could argue that. He could point out that with Will and him on opposing sides, mere _feelings_ didn’t count for much. He could put his silver tongue to use and try to convince Will yet again that his best interests lay in leaving the forest and looking after his own welfare rather than relying on a nobleman’s sense of fair play. He could promise that he and Will would flee together and take to the road free and unencumbered, that he’d leave Guys’ employment and all it entails behind and they could live by their wits and love and fuck to their heart’s content.

But Will already knows how much feelings count in this situation, and Allan will never convince him to leave the gang if he talks until he’s blue in the face, and Will knows him well enough to know that Allan would never choose poverty over riches, not for anyone. So for once in his life Allan keeps mouth shut. When Will eases away, he hitches up his breeches and turns around, but doesn’t say a word.

Will reaches up and fixes Allan’s cloak which has come askew, then brushes his hair back and pulls the hood up for him. “What? No argument this time?” He smiles a little, but it’s a sad smile.

“No,” Allan sighs, resigned. “No argument.”

Will leans forward and kisses him on the lips, light and quick. “Will I see you again?” he asks.

“Very likely,” replies Allan. “Considering how often you lot find yourself in trouble around here.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t know if you’ll see me again,” says Allan. “I can’t promise anything, Will. Or, I could, but I’d be lying.”

“Very well.” Will looks as though he would say more, but then shakes his head. “That’s it then.”

“Yes. That’s it.”

Will backs away a few steps, still looking at Allan with a strange, intent expression in his eyes and Allan wonders what it is that he sees. He’s never known what Will sees when he looks at him.

Will turns to go, then halts and turns to face him again.

“Merry Christmas, Allan A Dale,” he says softly.

Allan manages a smile and if it’s a tad bitter, it’s the best he can do. “Merry Christmas, Will Scarlett.”

  



End file.
